


the only way they know - Sparring with Blackwall and Cullen

by pixiedurango



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Feels, Gen, Inspired by Art, Love Triangles, Self Confidence Issues, Sparring, Swordfighting, armwrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall and Cullen meet on the sparring ground on a sunny afternoon. They can't decide who is the superior warrior by crossing blades but they get the feeling they have to settle this and so they move on to another competition: armwrestling. Of course, the Inquisitor watches...</p>
            </blockquote>





	the only way they know - Sparring with Blackwall and Cullen

**Author's Note:**

> This one was incredible hard on me. I had a prompt lingering in my askbox for ages, that asked me to write down Aryas thoughts on this scene below. I tried and failed many times (in fact I have never done so many drafts and dismissed them later as for this.)
> 
> I love this piece of artwort. I loved it before I got to know the ever lovely, thoughtful and incredible talented rabidtanuki. When we got to talk more I told her how fond I am of her drawing for so many reasons (obvious and inconspicious ones included) and I learned that this was more a fun piece to her. 
> 
> I still loved it and asked permission to write something related to it. I got permission so I tried. Wanted to do it justice, felt I failed about it. Took me a long time to drabble it down and I still feel it still got somewhat out of hand with me. 
> 
> So here you have an insight of why two well trained and equipped (*cough cough*) warriors would go half naked first while they sparr and later even settle on a game of (still half naked) arm wrestling.
> 
> Have fun with this little drabble about sweaty soft skin, moving muscles and a lot of lingering testosterone and as less distracting dialogue as possible…

 

* * *

  


 

Muscles tense and relax. Move under skin that promises to be as smooth and soft as the well defined muscles will be adamant. Telling of strength, years of training, dedication and discipline.

Sweat appears on skin. Here and there a drop forms and runs down shoulders and arms. Down the ever changing landscape of muscles and prominent veins that set the path. Gambeson, coat and even shirts are long gone, their sweaty bare chests glisten in the sunlight. Sweat drops down from their hair. 

Dark the one, brown close to black and more than shoulder long by now, face half covered with a full beard. Grey streaks in hair and beard that highlight the dark, telling not of age but of experience and life. Blond the other, hair cut short and clean shaven but even the neat cut can’t prevent the hair from curling and finding it's own way. Even more messy now after arduous exercises. 

The sweat runs down their torsos, dwells between their chest hair, within the trails that lead down to where they disappear under the waistbands of their breeches. Runs down backs and arms so its a good thing to wear leather gloves not to lose grip.

Heavy breathing. The younger as much as the older one needs to catch breath. Broad chests rise and fall as they suck in the fresh air. Steaming bodies after more than an hour of sparring on a sunny afternoon.

All their efforts and strategies can not bring out a winner of their casual contest on the sparring grounds. One massive two-hander opposing sword and shield to find out who's skills might be superior. Where the one excels in technique and form the other stands and forces forward with raw savage which alone can make enemies flee with weary hearts. Once he has been also trained with the same technical finesse and that still is locked deep down in the subconsciousness, but years of war, cockiness and even desperation have formed a champion who relies on strength, brute force and instincts. Blackwall's dirty feints tell about places, where the Templar might not have been to yet, but Cullen can make up with his unfaltering faith that makes him stand and find answers to attacks no one would think anyone could block - not to speak about parry. 

They have dived deep into their own world of fight and competition. Comradery and respect but not willing to step back or make it easier for the other one.

Both has put down their weapons for now but the tension does not fade. Still they circle each other on the churned soil of the sparring grounds, measuring each other with looks, recognizing even the slightest twitch with the blade, ready to yank up the weapon again and defend. Both apparently have agreed on their equality, that they are even - but both can't let go either. 

Maker knows but they need some kind of result. They won't find any while sparring with each other but this needs to be settled - at least on a level they can control.

A few words and they agree on another thing. Some more competition. Grim eyes. Serious. Determined. Adrenaline running, testosterone even more. They come to sit down on some hay bales, facing each other. Placing their elbows onto that improvised table. 

Cullen smirks. 

At times he appears to be awkward. Boyish with his smooth face, tender eyes, even awkward and insecure. He is none of all this. He is a warrior, just as much as Blackwall is one. A pack leader just as the older man, maybe even with additional qualities that may justify why he is the Commander, superior of all Inquisition troops. And he is not afraid to prove his worth anytime. He has no reason to hide just because he is younger, Cullen will stand his ground any time.

Their hands touch, fist grabs fist. Hands locked. Eyes, too.

Blackwall is all serious. Like he always is when he does important things. This  _is_ important. To him. Fighting is the only way he knows to prove himself. It's all he is, all he has, all he knows, all he is good at. He needs to prove he is worthy. To himself. To the one he loves. To the world.

She watches. Of course she is. Never she would miss this. Not staring across the yards, not interfering, not cheering for the one r the other - but she is there. She lets them play. Well knowing this is all about her but not rubbing their faces into that she knows. 

They are no friends. How could they be? But their looks speak of respect. A distant inkling maybe that there must be something about the other that needs to be respected because she loves them both.

Game is on. 

When there was motion and action while they sparred, attack and defense, block and parry, a mighty dance of skills and maneuvers - now there is concentration and focus. Static demonstration, a show-off of sheer power and strategy.

They agree on three rounds. Two victories needed to win this battle with no prize to win but the knowledge of being the winner and the honor of being the stronger one. And to know that  _she_ will know.

Again it looks as if they are even. Equal opponents with different but tantamount skills.

Cullen's grin even gets cocky when he realizes how much of a hard time he is giving Blackwall. 

The first round may have gone to the dark warrior. It had been a fast decision when Blackwall just rocked down Cullen's arm using the element of surprise and a raw and powerful move. But Cullen adjusted fast. Blackwall obviously relies on his raw vigors that come from wielding the heavy two-hander weapon all the time. But now in the second try, the Commander resists. Adjusts and adapts fast. He won't get caught by surprise a second time. He's prepared and patient. Outruns the massive arm with endurance and the will and capability to wait until Blackwall needs a moment to breath and to adjust. Cullen pushes and Blackwall's hand is down on the table.

Again they are even. The last round must bring a final decision.

She finally crosses the yards. Of course they realize it. Only from the corner of their eyes first, but they do. Swaying hips. Does she do it on purpose or isn't that the way how she usually walks? They realize but it's not the time for admiration, isn’t it? They should go on but they hold what they are about to do. All of a sudden they realize that they might have let them get carried away. Her cheeky smile reminds them where they are and what they do: Sitting half naked in the yards and having an arm wrestling contest.

Do they truly blush? Does Cullen desperately look around where he left his shirt? Does Blackwall cast down his eyes to avoid her knowing grin.

Both feel caught. Realize that they may have lost themselves within that brawling game. She already knows but she does not not mock them about it. And she’s clever enough to know the moment to interfere. To end it. So she places her hands playful on each their shoulders and smiles a sweet and soothing smile that has enough warmth for both of them.

She could say much. Admire their strength, point out the merits each one has to offer in battle or in other aspects. Even show her preference to one of them may it be in general or for the moment. Make a funny note on them playing together only to make her swoon over their bodies or about their dedication.

She keeps herself from doing any of this. Only one thing she mentions before she turns away to go. She still smiles but leaves no second of doubt that she is in charge here and this is a friendly order: „Impressive. Both of you. The Inquisition can be glad to have two outstanding warriors like you in their ranks. Now I guess it’s time to call it a tie and turn back on our duties. Have a good day you two.“ Then she is gone.

And with a last stiff nod they do as she asked and part with no more words into different directions. Collect their clothes and weapons and hurry off to their quarters.

They may be different but they are equal and maybe they even complement each other to fit her needs. And they can accept this now because they've proved themselves. In the only way they know.

 


End file.
